If this is your first visit, be sure to
check out the FAQ by clicking the
link above. You may have to register
before you can post: click the register link above to proceed. To start viewing messages,
select the forum that you want to visit from the selection below.

OT: Original Poetry Thread

10-02-2002, 09:30 PM

Seriously, post your original poetry, of any type.I'll start with my free verse from the 9-11 thread on the guitar forum.

Recollections, the classroom filled with the volume of the utter silence,the roar, drowning the cries of the civilian, the newscaster,as we sit, stand, faint.I have seen the evil of man.I have heard his anger,moving thousands to tears,to places we are not, but shall be.We have changed, we have not,we have had,we now give.Prayers, the bees,the traffic of the day, the week,now, the year.Remembering,the nation weeps,shedding tears that carry the shell,the empty husks of locust that we once were, to the wounded, yet healed soil.

Comment

Speaking the masses agree to the production line running a foot away, leaving them behind in an uproar, a stupor from which they refuse to recover those things they have lost themselves in a way they do not realize what has taken place they have not been around the corner shop of cathartic words that condemn each for his belief that he should believe that faith is his choice of life, attempted restraint of his desire to do harm to those that wish upon a Star that could save them if they allow it to do so. They will not.

Comment

Improvise something. Come on, people! I know more than three people have poetic ability.

As I stand, watching the world turn upon itself,I mourn, for that, the pain, the destruction,Is bound upon the hearts of men,And so shall it be.Loosed from those iron hearts,The iron hands grasp the will of the weak,Bending them,As the drums of war are beaten, I am Caesar,I am the powers that were, and will be.

Comment

Originally posted by The Eristic As I stand, watching the world turn upon itself,I mourn, for that, the pain, the destruction,Is bound upon the hearts of men,And so shall it be.Loosed from those iron hearts,The iron hands grasp the will of the weak,Bending them,As the drums of war are beaten, I am Caesar,I am the powers that were, and will be.

that is awesome eristic! just awesome.

nerve, i dig "sometimes america" too. i have read that before i think. most excellent.

Comment

The King stands on top of his hill looking out with dry and empty sockets that will cry no more. Not a thought stirs in his head nothing to disturb the hollow numbness. A heart as dry as tinder and as black as mildewed straw.

His coat of glory, now tattered and torn flaps in the breeze like a warning flag to sailors in uncharted waters where many put to sea, yet none returned, or a battle standard of faded victories mocking its own past.

No more to walk and breathe, crucified on his frame of old sticks, the scarecrow sees the dawning day and screams his silent agonyacross the waking world.

Comment

Not one of mine, but by an ex-girlfriend, an author. She wrote this very clever parody of "Dulce et Decorum", and it's called...

Dolce et Gabbana

by Jane Lovering

Here they come, rows on endless rows From Knightsbridge trudging on down Oxford Street. Each as blackly dressed, as uniform, as crows Marching forward, Gucci shoes on Gucci feet. And - dear God - the children, each a mother's son Clad in ill-fitting sports wear - daughters too. Proud to show they're Gap Kids, every one. We ordinary mortals draw away, we let them through.

Harrods Sale! We must be there, the prices tumbling Of Versace ... and that Chanel dress I'm told Supports, contains, prevents the body crumbling, When one buys designer wear one cannot gracefully grow old. Everything which can must be tucked, stitched around Or else upraised, oh blessed Wonderbra! That stops my boobs from dragging on the ground. One cannot praise too highly Wonderbra.

But are they happy? Sticklike, thin and pale? That look as though they need some food and sun And have instead cocaine and smoke - though none inhale, Stay up all night at parties having fun. Sleeping with male models - chiselled faces Who know how to roll a joint in just one hand, Make love in front of mirrors, and kiss places That the plain suburban girl has yet to understand.

Oh yes. The beautiful, the rich, they have the best. It's still the same, the old, old story, Sadly, but Dolce et Gabbana est Pro Patria Mori.

Comment

I strangle your haiku with incessant rhymeless rhyming of the ways in which we are falling upon stoned fooling none other than themselves in whom we find solacing ourselves once again in apathetic joy to this world is rejected by those seeking life have found it and given it away.